The next morning, I went to meet my grandparents.
They lived close to the sea.
Not near it—close.
Close enough that the salt crept into the walls.
Close enough that the sound of waves was part of daily life, like breathing.
Close enough that you could stand on the terrace and tell the mood of the ocean just by listening.
We had spoken on calls after the Merge.
Short ones. Reassuring ones.
They'd laughed.
Told me not to worry.
Told me the sea had always been unpredictable.
Still, worry didn't listen to reason.
So I went.
Home… or Something Else?
The moment we crossed the last dirt path leading to our family land, I slowed.
Then stopped.
Then stared.
If I hadn't known—if I hadn't grown up here—I would've sworn I'd just walked into a Pokémon breeding base.
Our land was large.
Always had been.
The old family house stood at the center—stone walls, red tiles, wide verandas built for monsoons. Around it spread coconut trees, mango trees, jackfruit trees, their canopies interwoven like a natural roof.
Except now—
They were alive.
Too alive.
Movement everywhere.
Branches shook violently.
Leaves tore loose.
Fruits dropped and smashed on the ground.
I caught flashes of white fur and muscular arms.
Passimian.
And—
My jaw tightened.
Mankey.
Too many of them.
They were leaping between trees, shouting, striking, grappling—some fighting, some chasing, some clearly competing over territory or resources.
For one horrible second, a thought slammed into me.
They attacked the house.
They broke in.
They're fighting over loot.
My hand moved on instinct.
Pokéballs flew.
"Pidgeot."
"Pikachu."
"Mankey."
"Thwackey."
They materialized instantly, senses flaring, reading my tension before I even spoke.
Apoorv and the others reacted just as fast.
Piplup.
Poochyena.
Spearow.
The air exploded into motion.
Pidgeot launched skyward in a thunderous beat of wings, pressure rippling outward. Pikachu crackled with restrained electricity. My Mankey roared, recognizing rivals instantly. Thwackey's sticks snapped into position, posture shifting from relaxed to lethal.
"Clear them out!" I snapped.
The clash was immediate.
Mankey met Mankey—fury against fury.
Passimian swarmed in coordinated groups, moving far more intelligently than expected.
Pidgeot dove—
—and was blocked.
A massive shadow swept up from between the trees.
Tropius.
It rose like a living wall of leaves and muscle, wings wide, bananas swaying beneath its neck. It intercepted Pidgeot cleanly, forcing her to veer hard to avoid collision.
What the—
This wasn't a random incursion.
This was organized.
The fight escalated instantly.
Our Pokémon were better trained—disciplined, controlled—but the numbers were overwhelming. The wild Pokémon weren't feral either. They weren't attacking blindly.
They were defending.
That realization hit me a half-second too late.
I turned and ran toward the house.
The front door opened.
Not explosively.
Not dramatically.
Just… opened.
My grandmother stepped out.
Barefoot.
Saree neatly tucked.
Hair tied back like she was about to water plants.
She blinked.
Looked at me.
"Aakash?"
Confusion crossed her face. "What are you doing here? You didn't say you were coming."
I opened my mouth.
Didn't get the chance to speak.
Her eyes shifted past me.
To the chaos.
To Pokémon fighting in the trees.
To dust clouds.
To roars and shrieks and snapping branches.
Her expression hardened.
And then—
She inhaled.
Deep.
And shouted.
"STOP."
Not screamed.
Not shrill.
It was a command.
A true one.
The kind that cut through noise and instinct alike.
I flinched.
So did everyone else.
The impossible happened.
The fighting stopped.
Not slowed.
Stopped.
Passimian froze mid-swing.
Mankey halted with fists raised.
Tropius folded its wings halfway.
Pidgeot hovered, stunned.
Even Pikachu's sparks died instantly.
My Pokémon—my Pokémon—who responded only to my voice…
Went still.
The forest held its breath.
My grandmother put her hands on her hips.
"What nonsense is this first thing in the morning?" she demanded. "You think coconut trees grow money? Why are you all shouting like monkeys?"
Mankeys and passimian were like: "We are."
I stared.
Apoorv stared.
Neha stared.
Arpit's mouth hung open.
This…
This wasn't aura.
This wasn't power.
This wasn't dominance.
This was something far older.
She looked directly at the nearest Passimian.
"You," she said sharply. "If you're hungry, there's jackfruit on the east side. Fighting here will only bring ants."
The Passimian slowly lowered its arms.
She turned to the Mankey.
"And you lot—if you break another mango branch, I'll make sure you don't get any when they ripen."
The Mankey whimpered.
Actually whimpered.
I felt something in my chest crack.
I stepped forward slowly.
"Ajji…(Grandma)" I said carefully. "Do you… know what's happening here?"
She looked at me like I'd asked the most foolish question imaginable.
"Of course I do," she said. "They've been here for weeks."
Weeks.
"They help clean fallen fruit. Keep snakes away. The big leaf one—" she jerked her chin at Tropius "—lets the smaller ones eat first."
She frowned at me.
"You didn't think they just appeared and we fought them, did you?"
I swallowed.
"No," I admitted quietly.
She sniffed. "Good. Because that would be stupid."
Somewhere behind me, Apoorv choked back a laugh.
My grandmother turned her sharp gaze on me again.
"And you," she said. "You bring half the sky down on my house without even saying hello."
She paused.
Then her expression softened—just a little.
"You must be tired."
I didn't argue.
"Yes," I said. "Very."
She waved a hand dismissively.
"Come inside. Breakfast is ready."
Then she looked at the Pokémon again.
"All of you—eat first, then play. No fighting before meals."
The Pokémon obeyed.
Without question.
As we walked inside, I glanced back once more.
At Passimian and Mankey sharing space.
At Tropius settling calmly among the trees.
At my own Pokémon standing quietly, confused but respectful.
For the first time since arriving in Konkan, something became clear.
This place didn't need suppression.
It didn't need enforcement.
It had already found balance.
All because one grandmother had never stopped treating the world—Pokémon included—as family.
And suddenly, my plans for the coast felt very, very small.
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